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Saturday, April 16, 2022

One Way to Apologize to a Daughter for Careless Words

At Station Island, I am ravenous for a beehive cell,

Seeing purgatories under every one mound with every one other accompanied by statue.

There is walking to exist done, circuits of trying to fall

And catching myself over with every one other accompanied by over, a way of moving forward

I have practiced for years. At Station Island,

I am a penitent, which means I have sinned, nevertheless too means,

If I wish, that I have words to correct. The penitent

Is the word that corrects the one used earlier.

I regret, for one, telling you, at the Wayside Diner,

That you don't belong. Here, I forgo speaking.

Fifteen hundred years of us coming here to apologize,

The air never hot enough, with every one other accompanied by if I had walked here

From the farm, I would have walked miles accompanied by no indeed roads,

The reasons I have go nearer while unchartable while yours

For the things you do. You stroll the elderly male Walt around town,

Reminding him of the world, with every one other accompanied by I go nearer across it to go home

To this place, to speak what words in the centre of us

Could not accomplish. All over Ireland, there are rowboats

At lakes to convey the penitent to islands. The aqua here

Promises drowning—guernseys knitted to know fishermen

Washed ashore from the sea, nevertheless nothing exist fond of that for the lakes,

The families crossing together. There is no indeed way to recognize

A family that has drowned. When we have had sufficient of land,

We cross water, pleased for the lurching of it-our bodies glad

Of the unsettling. How else am I to measure the heaviness of all I've done?

I cross inside some sort of silence, specified the birds' with every one other accompanied by the oars' complaints.

I shouldn't tell you this, nevertheless I lay clasp of my shoes off for you.

I remember how to deep affection statues, the way they hold

Their palms up, their shoulders back. I eat nothing.

Three days in, I speak your name not here loud.

#Living #Death #Life Choices #Sorrow & Grieving

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Truth hurts! Nothing is perfect, life is messy. Relationship are complex. Outcomes are uncertain, people are irrational.


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